


Reports of My Death

by purplekitte



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: Guilliman tests all his theoreticals, even those involving reports of his own death.





	Reports of My Death

**Author's Note:**

> prequel to a punch-in-the-gut fic sirithy wrote back in the day about Thiel talking to Sigismund after hearing about Dorn’s death; post-Heresy

_“My primarch didn’t like… surprises. Things he couldn’t predict. He liked facts, evidence, proof. Things he could control and therefore influence. He tested every theory he had, battled out every possible situation. The Codex wasn’t born from his imagination, you know. But he also…”_

_Thiel went silent for a while and for once, Sigismund had nothing clever to say._

_“He also tested us. I was told later he chose me and my men because he assumed that of all his sons, I would react the most... reasonably to news of my primarch’s death.”_

_Sigismund watched silently as he poured more wine._

_“I did. Barely. We were devastated, as you might have imagined. Men cried, battle-hardened veterans sobbing like babies. I have always wondered if the Iron Hands didn’t get, as grim as it is, the best deal of losing their father. They were in a battle. They could see him die, could channel their grief straight into avenging him, killing their enemies, and continue fighting until it no longer hurt.” He chuckled again, as dark as before. “Lord Guilliman considered it a valid theory. I was so proud. And the day he tested us, I cried along with everyone else. We carried on, enacted protocols, but not as efficiently enough as our lord would have wanted. He was… disappointed in us.”_

_Another laugh. “Like we cared, like that once we cared if we had upset him. Men knelt before him in droves, glad to accept any blame, any punishment, if it only came from him. I begged for his forgiveness myself.”_

*

Thiel had never been more glad for a lifetime of stern disapproval and censure that had lead him to being able to bear his primarch’s displeasure this moment. ‘The fault is my own, my lord. I should have kept to protocol and set a better example for the men. I will accept any punishment you see fit. Demote me back to sergeant. Send me to burn squigs out of ork latrines on reclaimed planets. Let me--’

‘Oh shut up, Aeonid. I’m trying to be angry at you. You don’t have to sound so thrilled about it.’

 _But you’re alive. Alive to be angry at me. I’d accept anything just to hear it in your voice._ Kneeling before his primarch, Thiel was too mature an officer to say that out loud, but he was doing a bad job of not having it written on his face.

‘I chose you and your men, Chapter Master, because I thought you would be the best. I am disappointed in you, and I expect you to be disappointed in yourself. Tell me what theoreticals you were using. When a test does not go as I’d anticipated, I need to know all the more.’

Thiel knew he should be. When he was thinking clearly, he took pride in his ability to see nothing but the clear, straight line between where he was and his goal and doing whatever needed to be done to get there. On the other hand, stealing a sword and a command weren’t the most well-adjusted of behaviours.

‘I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t even angry, then. I was so far beyond that. I didn’t feel anything, I told myself, though I could not stop weeping. I was light, free. Everything was simple. I wasn’t thinking either. I wasn’t applying practicals badly--I was not, consciously. There was no strategy, no Codex, nothing but me and the victory I saw in front of me.’

Guilliman nodded, acknowledgement not approval, and Thiel took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Because if I did anything but act on pure instinct, all I’d be able to see was you. I could only run forward, never dwell on it.’

‘And your instincts are to throw out the Codex entirely, and they border on suicidal.’

‘It is me, lord.’

‘You succeeded. That was never in doubt. You left yourself open for disastrous failure as well as brilliant success if you were wrong in any of your predictions. You were not, but that does not excuse your recklessness or your reliance on unexamined instincts. You made it personal.’

Guilliman fell silent for awhile to let his criticism sink in. ‘Are you done?’

‘For now.’

‘Good.’ Thiel leaned forward to rest his head against his primarch’s hip. After all the centuries of his life, he was occasionally able to recognise that his inclinations were socially unacceptable before doing them. Then he probably still did it anyway, so there was that. Personally, he considered himself very restrained to not have embraced his primarch immediately and not let go.

Guilliman sighed, rather melodramatically, but made no move to push him away or give him a stock speech on propriety. Thiel loved his primarch. No other could even compare. How dare the galaxy even contain the theoretical of him being dead? He gave himself over to the strength of his lord’s form, the cool metal against his skin, the low hum of servomotors, letting himself unwind until only the ceramite exoskeleton of his armour held him in place.

Eventually fingers descended to card his hair. He appreciated a man who could punch off heads and manipulate the fingers of a powerfist so finely as to press into his scalp without leaving a bruise. He wouldn’t have minded being slapped as long as it was by him, but he wasn’t some Imperial Fist to long for punishment to make him feel clean again. Being here, like this, exalted his soul.

‘I suppose I should see to the morale of your men before you take the field again.’ He did not apologise.

Just knowing he was alive had done enough, but Thiel was hardly going to deny the effect of his personal attention or so selfish to suggest denying it to others. ‘Practical: Puppy piles are indicated.’

‘A wild tangle of limbs and overlapping bodies, like a bunch of burned out World Eaters?’ he asked, allowing a hint of amusement in his voice.

‘When have I steered you wrong, my lord?’

‘You just want to get my shirt off.’

‘Well, yeah.’

Guilliman favoured him with a particularly affectionate pat and said, ‘I’ll think about it,’ watching every unconscious way Thiel leaned into it.

Thiel thought that meant yes. His primarch was really alive, and that was everything.


End file.
